


Three-Day Migraine

by sahiya



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Massage, Protective Peter Parker, Sleepy Cuddles, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 08:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18494755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: Tony’d had migraines since he was teenager. No one knew why, because no one ever really knew why with migraines. He had a few obvious triggers––red wine, dehydration, and stress. Stress was by far the worst, since it meant they tended to flare up when he could least afford to take time off. He’d tried a lot of different medications over the years, and none of them really worked, but Imitrex at least took the edge off.So when Tony blinked at the hologram in front of him and realized that it wasn’t going wonky because something was wrong with it but because something was wrong with his vision, he wasn’t too alarmed. Irritated, but not alarmed.





	Three-Day Migraine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [genebec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/genebec/gifts).



> This isn't beta'd. I almost never post things that are unbeta'd, but it was written for my dear beta Fuzzyboo, who recently had a _two week_ migraine, and it seemed unfair to make her beta her own gift fic. Don't look for things like a coherent narrative structure here. Do look for things like hand massages and hair stroking. It is self-indulgent to the max. Y'all are welcome.

The first day, it was goddamn annoying. 

Tony’d had migraines since he was teenager. No one knew why, because no one ever really knew why with migraines. He had a few obvious triggers––red wine, dehydration, and stress. Stress was by far the worst, since it meant they tended to flare up when he could least afford to take time off. He’d tried a lot of different medications over the years, and none of them really worked, but Imitrex at least took the edge off. 

So when Tony blinked at the hologram in front of him and realized that it wasn’t going wonky because something was wrong with it but because something was wrong with his vision, he wasn’t too alarmed. Irritated, but not alarmed. He drank some water, popped an Imitrex for all the good that it would do him, and locked down the workshop. He had everything he needed in here, and he didn’t need nosy teammates trying to mother him. 

If part of him thought that it might’ve been _nice_ to be mothered for once––well, that part of him could just sit down and shut up. Starks took care of themselves. They didn’t show weakness. Even though things were better with Steve and the others since they’d defeated Thanos together, that didn’t mean Tony wanted them to see him when he was woozy and semi-coherent with a migraine. He’d sleep it off and they’d never be the wiser.

He stretched out on the sofa under a ratty old throw that was too threadbare for any other room in the tower. “JARVIS, _Treasure Island_ ,” he muttered. “And lights at thirty percent, please.”

There was a pause. “Boss,” FRIDAY said quietly, even as she dimmed the lights. 

Tony winced. “Sorry, FRI.”

She started reading. Tony tried to follow along, to distract himself as the lights progressed to pain progressed to nausea. Maybe an hour later, he had to get up and drag the trashcan over by the sofa. He sat, breathing carefully, and didn’t throw up. Almost wanted to, but didn’t.

He drank more water, which made him have to pee. Then he was in the bathroom, and it seemed like a lot of work to get back to the sofa, plus his stomach was trying to crawl up his throat, so he sat on the floor in front of the toilet for a while. FRIDAY kept reading to him, but he wasn’t listening at all anymore.

This was a bad one. His hands were numb. He flexed them, trying to get some feeling back, but there probably wasn’t really anything wrong with them. It was the electrical impulses in his brain misfiring. Blood vessels constricting. All the wrong signals being sent and received. 

“Boss,” FRIDAY said, some untold amount of time later. 

Tony tried to pick his head up from where he’d laid it on the edge of the bathtub. It felt like it weighed two hundred pounds. “Yeah.”

“Captain Rogers says they are ordering dinner and wished to know if you would be joining them.”

Tony grimaced, the thought of food roiling his stomach. “No. Tell them I’m working.”

“You also have several messages from Peter. He reports an easy patrol and says he has a chemistry test in the morning. He wanted to know if he could come to the tower to study.”

Peter had doing that more and more, since Thanos’s defeat. Before the snap, he’d come over once, maybe twice a week at most, and now it was more like three or four. The two of them would hang out in the lab, sometimes with Bruce, and then, if it wasn’t a school night, they’d head upstairs to watch a movie with everyone else. It felt strangely normal, as though it had always been that way. A couple of time Peter had fallen asleep leaning against him. Tony had threatened to destroy the phone and the StarkCloud files of anyone took photos of them, but that hadn’t stopped Steve. Or Rhodey. Or Natasha. And that was nothing compared to the shit Tony gotten the time he had fallen asleep on Peter. 

“Tell him...” Tony swallowed, then sighed. “Tell him not tonight. Tell him I’ll catch up with him tomorrow. And good luck on his test.”

“You got it, boss,” FRIDAY said. 

Tony sighed, letting his head rest against the cool porcelain. He’d never told the kid he couldn’t come over before. Peter took that sort of thing personally sometimes. It was probably Tony’s own fault, keeping him at arm’s length at the beginning. Well, that, and the distressing tendency the poor kid’s parental figures had of dying on him. 

He’d make it up to him, Tony promised himself. Just as soon as he kicked this headache to the curb. 

Eventually, Tony’s back started to ache from sitting on the hard tile floor. He dragged himself to his feet and found himself swaying, steading himself against the wall. There were lights partially obscuring his vision, and the nausea was bad. Really bad. 

“Boss, would you like me to call someone?” FRIDAY asked as Tony shuffled unsteadily back to the sofa. “Perhaps Dr. Banner?”

It was tempting. Bruce would be discrete, but he probably couldn’t actually do much. Tony had resigned himself to the fact that he had to wait his migraines out. The lost productivity chafed, but it had never been more than a day. He’d go to sleep and wake up pain-free. 

“Lights, FRIDAY,” Tony mumbled into the cushion when he finally made it back to his blessed sofa. “And play, I dunno, ocean noises.”

The lights went out, leaving Tony in almost perfect darkness, aside from the bots’ lights. Even those were dimmed, since they were in their charging stations. He exhaled slowly and pulled his blanket up over his shoulders. 

It might’ve been nice to have someone there, he admitted to himself, in the dark. But they couldn’t have done anything, and he didn’t really need them. He’d wait it out. No one ever had to know. 

***

Sleeping on the sofa was a mistake. He tossed and turned all night, unable to get comfortable, nauseous and dizzy and disoriented, before finally passing out near dawn. 

He woke up feeling worse. He’d never had a migraine stretch into a second day before, but the headache and nausea and lights were no better, and now he ached from spending the night on the sofa. His mouth was dry and his eyeballs hurt. He was going to have to venture out of the workshop, get himself something to drink and maybe something to eat if he could manage it. 

He dragged himself upright and out of the workshop. “FRI, is there anyone in the common area?” he asked while he waited for the elevator. 

“No, boss,” she said. 

“Great.” The elevator arrived and Tony shuffled in. He leaned against the wall. “Take me up there.”

The doors opened on the thankfully deserted common area. Tony got a glass of water from the tap and drank it leaning against the counter with his eyes mostly closed. His head hurt, but that was never the worst part of a migraine for him. The worst part was all the other parts––the light sensitivity, the nausea, the aura, the tingling in his fingers, and the fact that it made him so fucking stupid that he couldn’t _work_. He could work through a normal headache. He’d even worked through the flu in the past, though Pepper had nearly killed him for it. But migraines didn’t give him the option. 

When the glass of water was half empty, he forced himself to open the fridge and look at its contents. There was a lot of food, but it was all stuff he would’ve had to make, and he did not have the energy or the concentration for it. A smoothie sounded not-awful, but that would’ve involved firing up the blender, and that was a big fat NOPE. 

He sighed and went and rooted around in the cupboards, finally coming up with a box of apple pie-flavored fruit and nut bars. He had no idea which of his teammates it belonged to. He also didn’t care. 

He sat at the kitchen island with his glass of water and his apple pie bar, alternating between the two and resting his head in his hands in between bites and sips. This sucked. There was no two ways about it. It _sucked_.

“Boss,” FRIDAY said, “I’ve had another message from Peter. He says his chemistry test went well. He asked if he could come by to train and maybe stay overnight. May has a date.”

Tony groaned. He knew how weird Peter felt about May dating again, and he wasn’t a huge fan of her current guy––not that he was mean or anything, “he just tries so hard, and it’s awkward, and I can’t get used to seeing her kiss someone who isn’t Ben.” Tony had been trying to do his part by letting Peter stay over whenever May went out, so he wasn’t home alone stewing about it, or going out as Spiderman and getting hurt because he wasn’t focused enough. But he wasn’t in any kind of shape to entertain Peter, and he didn’t want him––or anyone––to know just what kind of shape he was in.

“Tell him I can’t tonight,” Tony mumbled at last. “Tell him...” It was so hard to think. “I’ve got deadlines for SI. And... and I’m sorry.”

It was going to hurt Peter’s feelings, and Tony knew it. Even if he _had_ had deadlines for SI, the kid could’ve come over, and they could’ve worked side-by-side in the workshop. For all his chattiness, when Peter got sucked into a project he was just as single-minded as Tony was. Or if he wasn’t in the mood to work, then there was a tower of superheroes who could’ve entertained him. Being told he couldn’t come over was going to sting, and Tony knew he’d end up dealing with it later. 

It made him feel even crappier. The next bit of his apple pie bar tasted cloying, and his stomach turned over. Tony put it down and took a cautious sip of water. It didn’t help. 

He was not going to be sick, he told himself firmly. He absolutely was not going to be sick. 

He was so caught up in arguing with his stomach that he didn’t register the voices until it was too late. 

“––I’m not watching you eat raw eggs again, Stevie. I’m going to make you an omelette with cheese and bacon and goddamn spinach and you will like it.”

“Of course I’ll like it, that’s not the point––the point is you don’t have to, I can just as easily––”

“STOP. Jesus Christ, Steve, we live in the future and have a basically bottomless refrigerator, there is no reason to eat raw eggs.”

Tony bolted for the sink and heaved up the tiny amount of food he’d managed to eat and the eight ounces of water he’d managed to drink. The pain in his head intensified with the pressure of vomiting. He held onto both sides of the sink and just tried not to collapse. 

“What the––Tony!” Steve’s hands gripped his shoulders. Tony tried to shrug him off, but he ended up heaving again, and then Steve’s hands were the only thing holding him up. 

“Try to breathe through it,” Barnes said. He was keeping a careful distance, but he still sounded concerned. “I’m going to get you some water to sip on.”

Tony gave a weak laugh as Steve propped him against the sink. “I was sipping on water.”

Barnes handed him his glass, and then a clean dishtowel so he could wipe his face. Steve hovered as though he wasn’t sure what to do. “Rinse your mouth,” Barnes prompted Tony.

Tony rinsed obediently and spat it into the sink. “Ugh. Sorry about this.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said, turning the water on. 

“I’m not hungover,” Tony muttered, sure that Steve was assuming he was.

“I didn’t think you were,” Steve replied. The genuine concern in his voice made Tony want to cringe, even though he had to admit that it was probably warranted at this point. “You didn’t feel like you have a fever. Food poisoning?”

“No,” Barnes said, before Tony could. “Migraine, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, blinking at him in surprise. “How’d you know?”

“You’re squinting,” Barnes said. “How long?”

Tony sighed. “Yesterday,” he admitted. “Never had one last this long before. Thought I’d just wait it out. Let myself get dehydrated.”

“You need an IV if you can’t keep water down,” Steve said with a frown. 

“I don’t––it’s not that bad, I don’t need an IV,” Tony said irritably, and the pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I’m just... it just hurts. And nothing will make it stop. It’s frustrating.”

There was a beat of uncertain, awkward silence. To Tony’s surprise, Barnes was the one to break it. “Okay. Let’s get you into bed, then. Would it be okay if I helped you?”

He sounded like he was braced for Tony to say no, and maybe Tony should have. He and Barnes were careful with each other even now––friendly, but not familiar. But in a weird way, that made it easier for Tony to say, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Great. Steve, go get Bruce, will you? Ask him to bring the portable scanner.”

“It’s not going to help,” Tony muttered, even as Barnes put his arm around him and steered him back toward the elevator. “Nothing helps.”

“I know you think that,” Barnes said. Steve had already disappeared into the stairwell. “Even if it’s true, I gotta give Steve something to do, or he’ll hover till you want to kill him. He’s absolutely shit at this sort of thing. Means well, but he doesn’t like feeling helpless.”

Tony could identify. “You don’t really need to do much,” he told Barnes as they got off the elevator on the top floor. “Just make sure I don’t get too dehydrated. Check on me every couple of hours, maybe. You don’t even have to come up, just ask FRIDAY.”

“Uh huh,” Barnes said skeptically. 

Tony rooted around in his dresser for pajamas. “Seriously. I just want a dark room.”

Barnes was silent for a few moments as Tony started to change. His clothes from yesterday were gross and he kicked them away gladly. His bed was going to feel really good after a night on the couch. 

Barnes picked up the discarded clothes and put them in the laundry. “You know I get headaches sometimes?”

“Oh––no, I didn’t know that,” Tony said, looking up from trying to button his pajama top. His fingers wouldn’t work right, and he finally gave up and pulled a t-shirt out instead. 

“Yeah. Not migraines, but bad tension headaches. Cho gave me something that takes the edge off, but I’m still pretty useless till they’re gone. Mostly all I want is a dark room, too.”

“So you get it,” Tony said in relief. 

“I said ‘mostly.’ Steve always sticks close when I have one, and even though he’s a useless lug a lot of the time, it helps, knowing he’s there if I need him. And sometimes he rubs my head or my neck or runs me a bath, and it actually does make me feel better.”

Tony crawled into bed. “I don’t need any of that. I just need to go to sleep, and when I wake up it’ll be gone.” That argument might’ve held more weight the day before, but nothing else had ever worked. Not that he’d ever had someone there to rub his head or his back or draw him a bath. Even when he and Pepper had been together, she’d mostly let him be. 

Barnes looked like he wanted to argue, but Steve and Bruce showed up just then, so he didn’t. Bruce took one look at Tony and literally _clucked_ , but somehow his fussing was easier to take. Tony let Bruce scan his head and neck with the portable scanner, and then he let him take his blood pressure by hand, and finally he let him sit with his wrist held gently in his hand while he looked at the results on his phone. 

“Scale of one to ten, ten being the most pain you’ve ever been in,” Bruce finally said, looking up. 

Tony grimaced. His standards for pain were pretty high. “A five maybe? Or a six?”

“That’s pretty bad,” Bruce said with a frown. “I could prescribe you something––”

“No Demerol,” Tony said firmly. “No narcotics. Nothing like that. I didn’t bust my ass getting sober to fall off the wagon over a headache.”

“Zofran for the nausea, then,” Bruce said. “And we can try a higher dosage of Imitrex.”

“Sure,” Tony replied with a listless shrug. It would make him groggy and stupid, but he just wanted to sleep anyway. 

He was dehydrated enough that Bruce overruled him on the IV line. Tony lay back and closed his eyes while Bruce set it up and pushed the Zofran into it. He took the Imitrex orally, a double dose. At some point, someone draped a cold, damp cloth over his eyes. Tony didn’t open them, but he was pretty sure he smelled the cold metal of Barnes’s left hand. 

“All right, we’ll let you rest, but let us know if you need anything,” Bruce said, standing up. “I mean it, Tony. FRIDAY, we’re enlisting you as well.”

“Of course, Dr. Banner,” FRIDAY said. 

The Zofran and the Imitrex combined made him drowsy, even though he’d barely been awake for an hour. He fell asleep after the others left and slept much more comfortably than he had on the sofa the night before. 

He woke in the late afternoon when Bruce and Barnes returned to check on him and change his IV bag. He definitely wasn’t dehydrated anymore; in fact, he really had to pee. He got dizzy when he stood up, so Barnes helped him to the bathroom. It was kind of humiliating, but it helped that Barnes didn’t seem embarrassed about it.

“How’s your pain?” Bruce asked, when Tony returned to bed. 

“About the same. Nausea’s better, though.”

“I’m putting a light sedative in this time, along with the Zofran. Hopefully you’ll sleep through the night and be okay in the morning. You want anything to eat?”

“Not really,” Tony said. He wasn’t nearly as nauseous as he had been earlier, but he also wasn’t hungry. And he was fucking sick of sleeping. But if this got him through it, he wasn’t going to complain. 

“All right. Let FRIDAY know if you need anything else.” Bruce squeezed Tony’s shoulder lightly as he and Barnes left. 

Tony let his head drop to the pillow. His head throbbed, no better or worse than it had been. “Any messages, FRI?” he asked, while he waited for the sedative to knock him out again.

“One from Pepper telling you that she hopes you feel better and that the paperwork she sent over can wait a few days.”

“How did she––never mind,” Tony sighed. He lived with a bunch of gossips, that was how she knew. And he couldn’t really complain, since it got him off the hook. “Say thanks for me.”

“I will. And there is a voicemail from Peter.”

“Play it.” Tony rolled over carefully, so as not to disturb his IV line, and hugged his pillow. 

_”Hi Mr. St––uh, hi Tony, it’s Peter. Peter Parker. I guess you knew that. Um, I was just calling to see if––if you were going to be free at all this weekend? I know you’re really busy and I don’t mean to bother you, it’s just May is kind of out of town. Her birthday is later this month and Rick surprised her with a trip to the Poconos, and, um. It’s nothing, it’s fine, I’m okay on my own obviously, but I just... was wondering if you were around. Yeah. Anyway. Sorry to bother you.”_

Tony groaned. He was fluent enough in Peter-speak to interpret that message to mean that Peter was feeling both weird about May going out of town unexpectedly and insecure about his relationship with Tony, because Tony had blown him off twice in a row. What absolutely shit timing. “Do I have anything from May Parker?”

“A text message from earlier today,” FRIDAY said. “She asks if you’re able to look in on Peter this weekend and make sure he doesn’t get into any more trouble than usual.”

Tony sighed. “Say yeah, of course. And... and send Peter a text and tell him I’m tied up tonight. I’ll call him in the morning.” He could not spend a third day in bed with a migraine, he decided, scowling at the ceiling. If he wasn’t feeling better, he was going to fake it until he was. 

The sedative started to kick in, then. Tony yawned, eyelids growing heavy. He was sick of sleeping, but the longer he slept, the more likely he would wake up feeling normal again. 

***

Tony was alone when he woke, very early in the morning, on the third day. And thank God, because it meant no one was there to see him actually start crying because the headache was as bad as it had ever been, the aura was worse, his hands were numb again, and he felt nauseous as hell. 

At some point in the night, Bruce must’ve come in and taken his IV out. Tony had no memory of it, but it was gone. Tony sat up slowly, cradling his head in his hands, and pressed his fingers into his eyes to try and stop the tears. _Stark men don’t cry_ , he heard his father telling him, as clearly as though he’d been standing right next to him. 

Stark men didn’t let something like a headache keep them in bed for three days, either, Tony thought bitterly. Not even if it left them muddled and slow. He wasn’t sure he could stand up or look at a screen without puking, but he was damn well going to get out of bed, shower, dress, and get on with his life. 

He made it as far as the shower. It’d been... probably five years since the last time Tony had puked in the shower. Though this was more dry heaving than anything else. He slumped onto the bench and braced himself with his elbows on his knees. There were bright lights obscuring parts of the tiled pattern. 

“Boss, would you like me to call Dr. Banner? Or Sergeant Barnes?”

“No,” Tony grunted, and dragged himself to his feet. He could do this. 

He was so out of it that he put conditioner in his hair before the shampoo, and he couldn’t remember whether he’d washed his face or not. By the time he stumbled out of the shower, all he wanted was to lie down. He knew that if he was being reasonable, he wouldn’t try and work like this. But reason was in the rearview mirror. 

He hadn’t counted on FRIDAY being a snitch. Bruce was sitting on the bed, waiting for him, when he staggered out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Um. Hi,” Tony said, going to the dresser. Jeans. Jeans and a t-shirt, and he didn’t care which one––shit. He needed underwear first. 

“Good morning,” Bruce said mildly. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah. Much better.”

“Really? Because FRIDAY said you were displaying signs of grogginess and reduced cognitive function.”

_Traitor_ , Tony would have said, if he’d been able to find the right word. But it was just beyond his grasp, and so instead he glared sullenly at Bruce. “I’m fine.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. “Pain scale, one to ten. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Tony closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the dresser. “Six,” he admitted. “And I’m nauseous again. I puked in the shower.” Bruce made a noise of sympathy. Tony turned to look at him, his frustration boiling over. “I’ve never had one last this long. Why won’t it stop? What if never stops?” His voice cracked embarrassingly on the last word. 

“Oh Tony,” Bruce said, standing. “I know you’re in pain, and I know it’s frustrating, but you need to trust that it _will_ stop. And in the meantime, I need you to be honest with me so I can help you manage your symptoms.”

Tony shook his head and immediately regretted it. “Can’t stay in bed anymore,” he muttered, swaying. Bruce caught him. “I’ve got... things. To do.”

“You can’t work like this.”

“Yes, I can,” Tony replied, frowning. 

Bruce sighed. “Listen to me, Tony. Maybe this is your body’s way of telling you to take a rest.”

“I don’t need to rest,” Tony said stubbornly. “I need to _work_.”

“Tony,” Bruce sighed. He pulled him down to sit beside him on the bed. Tony let him, even though he knew he shouldn’t. “I can’t let you work like this. You’ll hurt yourself.” He rested his hand on the back of Tony’s neck. Despite himself, Tony let his head fall forward. Bruce hummed softly and dug his thumb in at the base of Tony’s skull. 

_Oh_. That... that almost felt good. 

“Barnes showed me this yesterday,” Bruce said quietly. “Pressure point therapy. He says it helps when he has a bad headache. Better if you let me do it with both hands.”

“That’s what she said,” Tony mumbled.

Bruce chuckled. “Well, you can’t be too far gone if you’re making bad jokes. Come on, Tony. Don’t do this to yourself. We want to help you.”

Tony didn’t answer. He felt like he was thinking through molasses. 

“Boss,” FRIDAY said, “you have an incoming call from Peter Parker.”

“Oh,” Tony said. “Yeah. Put him on hold.” He wasn’t in much shape to talk to the kid, but he had the feeling that blowing him off again was going to make things much, much worse. He glanced at Bruce. “Give me a minute?”

Bruce looked dissatisfied but nodded. He left, closing the door behind him. 

Tony lay down again. He instantly felt ten percent less nauseous, which was just enough for him to no longer have to actively work not to throw up. “Okay, FRI.”

“Tony?” Peter said, hesitantly. 

“Hey, kid. Sorry about the last couple of days.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said. “You’re busy. I can’t just expect you to drop everything to entertain me. And you didn’t know that May was going out of town this weekend. None of us did. Except Rick, I guess.”

Tony winced. “You okay with that, Pete?”

“Yeah. I mean... she and I kind of had plans? Nothing big, just takeout and a movie, but it kind of left a big hole in my weekend.” Peter cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m fine.” Yeah, right. Maybe if he hadn’t sounded so much like he was trying to talk himself into believing it. “But I thought maybe I could come over? I have homework, I can just work if you’re busy. But––but it’s okay if I can’t. I understand you have deadlines.”

Poker would definitely not be the kid’s game, Tony thought. He could hear the quiet insecurity and the even quieter desperation in Peter’s voice. 

He considered lying again, but he was certain that Peter would pick up on it if he did. Text messages were one thing, but over the phone, Peter would hear in his voice that something was wrong. “Peter,” he finally said, and then stopped. 

“Tony?” Peter prompted after a few seconds. “Are you okay? You sound kind of weird.”

“Yeah,” Tony said with a sigh. “I’m on day three of a migraine.”

“Oh,” Peter said, sounding flummoxed. “Jeez. That sucks. May gets migraines. I didn’t know you did, too.”

“Not that often. And never for this long before.” Tony rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“For screwing up your weekend, I guess,” Tony said. “I know you wanted to come over. You still could, you know. Just hang out with the rest of the team. They’re around.”

“I mean... that’d be cool,” Peter said. “I won’t say no to that. But I’ve taken care of May when she had a migraine. I could come over and help. Hang on, May has this kit full of stuff that she keeps on hand. Let me see if it’s still––oh yeah, it’s still here. There’s like essential oils and ginger chews and Excedrin and one of those head scratcher things? Oh hey, did you know there’s a spot on your hand that if you press it really hard, it helps a migraine?”

“I didn’t,” Tony said, a little overwhelmed. “Mostly I just wait them out.”

“Yeah, none of it works a hundred percent,” Peter said. “But a lot of it works like five percent, and then you add it up and it’s a lot better than nothing. And May always says that if she has to have a headache, she’s at least going to take a fancy bath and light some candles and eat a bunch of candied ginger.”

“Fair point, I guess,” Tony said slowly. “But it’s not––you don’t have to––it’s not your job, kid.”

“Not my job to do what? To take care of May when she’s not feeling well?”

“No,” Tony said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He clearly wasn’t communicating. “To take care of _me_.”

“Then whose job is it?” Peter asked reasonably. “I mean, I get it if you don’t want me taking care of you, but someone should be.”

“Bruce has been,” Tony said. “And Barnes, actually.”

There was a single skipped beat. “Oh,” Peter said. “Right. Yeah, that makes sense. I’m sure they’re better at it than I would be.” Tony heard him swallow. “Look, I can just come by and bring you some stuff––or not come by at all, if that’d be better. I didn’t mean to—to overstep.”

Jesus, this kid was going to kill him. “You didn’t, Pete,” Tony said, and finally gave in. “Come over. If you don’t mind me being boring.”

“I don’t care about you being boring. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. And bring some of that stuff you mentioned,” Tony added. “I’ll try anything at this point.”

“Okay,” Peter said, sounding a little less like someone had just kicked his puppy. “I’ll be by in a hour or so, is that all right?”

“Yeah, that sounds great. Plan on staying over. Even if I’m out of commission, the others are all here.”

“Okay. See you soon.” Peter disconnected. 

Tony decided there was no use in pretending this day was anything other than a wash. He changed out of the jeans and t-shirt he’d just put on and into a clean pair of sweats. While he was doing that, Bruce knocked at the door. Tony opened it and flinched at the unfiltered morning light coming through the penthouse windows. 

“FRIDAY, windows, for the love of God,” Tony said, and the light dimmed as they polarized. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“So,” Bruce said, leaning against the door jamb, “am I gonna have to physically bar you from the workshop?”

“No. Peter’s coming over in about an hour.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Really.”

“What does that mean?” Tony asked, turning to shuffle back to the bed. 

“I’m just surprised is all. I thought he’d be the last person you’d want to see right now.”

“Maybe he should be,” Tony said as he lay back down. “But... I don’t know.” He didn’t have the words right then to say what he wanted to say––that Peter had been twice as consistent as any other human in Tony’s life, with the exception of Edwin Jarvis. Peter was loyal to a fault, he didn’t want anything from Tony except time and attention, and he stayed even though he knew all his flaws. Losing Peter in the snap had just about broken him, and they were still feeling their way forward. But not since Tony was a child had he had more faith that someone wasn’t going to hurt him or leave him just because they could. Tony’s baggage was a lot to lay on one seventeen year old kid, but Peter was strong. So far he’d handled it. 

Tony wanted to say all of that to Bruce, but his poor migraine-brain just couldn’t get it out. So instead he just shrugged and let Bruce get him a fresh pillowcase. 

***

Tony was slowly sipping some tea and listening to NPR at low volume when Peter showed up a little over an hour later. He knocked on the cracked-open bedroom door and stuck his head in. “Hey,” he said at about a quarter his usual volume. 

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said. FRIDAY turned off the radio. Tony set the tea on his night stand and shifted over a few inches so Peter could sit next to him on the bed. Peter had a canvas shopping bag with him. 

“How’re you feeling?” Peter asked, setting the bag on the bed in front of him. 

“About the same. Bruce threatened me with an IV again, so I’ve been drinking tea.”

Peter frowned. “It was that bad?”

“Mostly I was stupid and let myself get dehydrated.” Tony grimaced. “He had me on Zofran for the nausea yesterday.”

“May swears by the ginger chews for that.” Peter dug through the bag and pulled out a bag of dried ginger pieces. He opened it up and held it out. Tony took one and popped it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t realize she had such bad migraines,” Tony said around the chew. 

Peter shrugged. “I think she’s always had them, but they got really bad after Ben died. He’d always taken care of her before. It was kind of hard at first, because I didn’t know what to do for her, and she didn’t want to be a burden, but we worked things out. And they’re not as frequent now.”

“That’s good,” Tony said. He watched Peter poking through the bag for a few seconds. “Have you talked to her today?”

“Texted this morning. She said she hopes you feel better. So.” Peter pulled two tins out from the bag. “One of these is lavender and the other is peppermint. May said that for serious migraines, she thinks the best thing is to smear some of the peppermint under your nose so you’re breathing it in it. She says that helps her a lot. She says the lavender is better for tension headaches.”

“I’ll try anything,” Tony said. The numbness in his hands made getting the top off the tin hard, so Peter took it back and opened it for him. The smell of peppermint was strong but not overwhelming; Tony had been afraid it would make him feel sick, but it didn’t. He rubbed some off the top and smeared it just under his nose. He took a few deep breaths.

“How’s that?” Peter asked. 

“Not bad.” It kind of made his eyes water, but maybe his headache was a little bit better? He definitely felt less nauseous than he had a few minutes ago. 

“Good. You want a cold cloth to go over your eyes? Usually May puts the peppermint under her nose, and then she puts a cold cloth over her eyes, and I do the thing with her hand.”

“Sure,” Tony said. “I should probably take some more Imitrex, too.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Peter said, standing. 

“Thanks, Pete.” Tony tilted his head back, resting it against the headboard. He took another deep breath. He was generally skeptical about the benefits of shit like essential oils, but his head definitely felt a little clearer. Maybe the aura wasn’t quite as bad? He wasn’t sure. He was so desperate to feel better, he thought he might be imagining it. 

Peter returned with a glass of water and a damp cloth. Tony took an Imitrex and let Peter drape the cloth over his eyes. Peter settled on the bed again at his side and picked up his hand, just holding it. “I’m going to press pretty hard on the heel of your hand,” Peter said, his voice still unusually quiet. “It might kind of hurt, but there’s a pressure point there.”

“Okay.” Tony took another deep breath, inhaling peppermint. Peter dug his thumb firmly into the heel of Tony’s hand––more firmly than Tony probably would have done on himself. Tony winced, but after a second or two––

“ _Oh_ ,” Tony breathed. 

“Better?” Peter asked. 

“Yeah.” To Tony’s horror, he felt himself start tearing up. He was glad he had the cloth over his eyes, so Peter wouldn’t notice. He’d started to worry that the headache was just going to go on and on and on, that nothing would ever help.

After a minute or two, Peter let up the pressure on his hand. “You want to sleep?” he asked quietly. 

“Maybe,” Tony said. The headache wasn’t gone, but it was definitely better, and so was the nausea. The aura was almost not noticeable. “You going somewhere?”

“Thought I’d do some reading for English,” Peter said. “And, um. May likes it when I play with her hair, and sometimes she has me rub more of the peppermint oil on her forehead and into her temples. But, uh, I get it if it’s weird.”

“You’re batting a thousand so far, kid,” Tony said, and slid down in the bed so he was lying flat. He heard Peter moving around, digging in his backpack. He climbed up on the other side of the bed and sat up against the headboard. Tony heard him unscrew the lid on the peppermint oil, and then he touched Tony’s forehead. He drew an M from just above the bridge of Tony’s nose down to his temples. The oil tingled a little and then felt warm. Peter did it again, and then a third time. 

Tony felt himself tearing up again, and he couldn’t even have said why. It felt good, and his migraine was undeniably better, but that wasn’t even it. It was just the way kid managed to dodge every defense, circumvent every dysfunctional coping mechanism, climb every wall Tony had built to keep himself safe and others out. There was no one else _in the world_ that Tony would’ve let do this, and that, in and of itself, was kind of overwhelming. 

Peter was thankfully oblivious. After the oil was rubbed in, he brushed Tony’s hair back from his forehead and buried the fingers of one hand in it. Tony heard him open his book, while he kept idly moving his fingers through Tony’s hair, rubbing the pads of his fingers against his scalp in unpredictable figures. 

It took a little while for Tony to feel like he could speak again. When he did, it still came out barely above a whisper. “May’s lucky.”

“Hmm? Oh.” Peter sounded a little embarrassed. “Thanks. Took us a while to figure it out.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Tony said, tilting his head over to rest against Peter’s side. He paused. “It’s okay, you know, if you feel weird about her going out of town unexpectedly.”

Peter swallowed audibly. “It’s fine. It’s just––I’m just having a hard time sharing her, I guess. We were each other’s people for such a long time, you know? And now––I don’t know. She and I haven’t really talked about any of it. I guess maybe we should.”

“You’d probably feel better if you did,” Tony said. “But you’re still her person, Peter. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, sounding unconvinced. He sighed. “I had kind of a bad moment last night. After she left, and...”

“And I brushed you off.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, almost inaudibly. “It was, um. Not good. For a little while. I’m really sorry you have a migraine, but I’m glad you haven’t decided you don’t want me around.”

“Oh kid,” Tony sighed. Peter rarely admitted he wasn’t okay, so he could imagine only what _not good_ actually meant. “I’m sorry. I should’ve just told you what was going on.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, though Tony wasn’t sure it was, just yet. He knew there was more to say about it, but he was too sleepy and relaxed to think of it just then, and even if he had, his brain was still too scrambled for it to come out right. 

They sat in silence for a little while, Peter’s hand moving slowly through Tony’s hair. It did feel good, Tony had to admit. This was nice. He hadn’t thought he wanted to sleep more, but he’d been wrong. He drifted off to the sound of pages turning and the sensation of Peter smoothing back the hair behind his ear, over and over again. 

***

Tony woke alone in a room that was mostly dark. He’d clearly slept for most of the day––his bedside clock informed him that it was after five––and Peter must’ve gotten bored at some point and ventured out. 

“Good evening, boss,” FRIDAY said quietly. “I’m to tell you that Peter is with the others on the common floor, but that he and Dr. Banner are both available if you need them. Dr. Banner said he would come up and check on you before dinner.”

“Thanks, FRI. I’m okay for now.” Tony sat up slowly, feeling achy and... delicate, for lack of a better word. A little hungover, almost. His head hurt much less, but it felt like the pain could come back if he wasn’t careful with himself. Tony wasn’t exactly cautious by nature, but he found himself moving slowly. The last thing he wanted to was to set himself back. 

Peter had left May’s bag of tricks by the bed. Tony found the tin of peppermint ointment and smeared some more of it under his nose. There were other things in there, too, he saw, poking through it. In addition to the peppermint, there was lavender ointment, bath oils, a large bottle of Excedrin, a heating pad that could be put in the microwave, and a thing that looked like a claw that Tony suspected was for giving yourself a head massage. 

The heating pad seemed like a good idea, but he lacked a microwave. The ensuite had heated towel racks, though, and that would be almost as good. He snagged the bottle of peppermint bath oil and headed into the bathroom.

He didn’t actually use the absurdly large soaking tub all that often. It had been Pepper’s favorite way to unwind, but Tony was too impatient for it most of the time. He was glad for it now, though. He sat on the edge as it filled and tipped in some of the bath oil. The steam drifting up took on a peppermint scent. Tony leaned over it and breathed it in for a moment, eyes closed, before forcing himself to move. 

He folded up one of the heated towels on the edge of the tub and slid in. The water was just this side of too-hot, the way he liked it. Muscles he hadn’t even known he’d been holding tense relaxed as he floated, eyes closed. 

He lost time—not quite asleep, not quite awake, just drifting in a blissfully pain-free place. By the time he roused, the water had gone lukewarm. He climbed out and wrapped himself in another warm towel. 

“Boss, Peter and Dr. Banner are on their way up,” FRIDAY said as he padded back into the bedroom. 

“Thanks. Ask them to give me a minute.” He dressed in sweats and a hoodie and finger-combed his hair into some semblance of its normal style. He needed to shave, but he felt too shaky from what was probably hunger. It’d been a long time since his fruit and nut bar.

He emerged to find Peter and Bruce sitting at the kitchen island. It was brighter than in the bedroom, but the windows were still polarized, and he managed not to flinch. “Hey,” he said. 

“It lives,” Bruce said with a smile. 

“It does,” Tony replied. To his surprise Peter got up to hug him. Tony accepted it with pleased consternation. Peter kept his arm wrapped around him even after he let go, and Tony found himself leaning on him. Peter shifted his weight easily, propping him up. 

Peter giggled. “You smell like a candy cane.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll smell like a candy cane if it means emerging from my migraine cave,” Tony said, letting the kid shepherd him over to the living room. 

“You’re feeling better then?” Bruce asked, following them. 

“Much. I’m starving, though.”

“That, we can do something about,” Bruce said. “Steve is making tomato soup, if that’s sounds okay to you. I can whip you up a grilled cheese to go with it.”

“That sounds great.” Tony stretched out on the sofa.

“Do you mind if Bucky and Steve come up?” Bruce asked. “I think they’ve both been worried about you.”

Tony opened one eye. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Nat’s in Iowa taking care of Clint’s kids for the weekend, Sam’s in DC visiting Rhodey, and Thor is... in one of the nine realms, not sure which one.”

“Oh, right.” Tony closed his eyes. “It’s fine if they come up.”

Bruce started puttering around the kitchen, making dinner. Peter sat down on the sofa next to Tony. Tony lifted his arm and Peter ducked under it. 

“You talk to your aunt today?” Tony asked him. 

“You asked me that this morning,” Peter reminded him. 

Tony managed not to roll his eyes. “Has the answer changed?”

“No. We’ve texted a few times.” Peter picked at a loose thread on his hoodie. “I guess they’re having fun. They’re coming back tomorrow. Is it okay if I stay over?”

“Of course, kid,” Tony said, squeezing his shoulders. “I’m really sorry about what happened. Look––you don’t have to ask permission from now on, okay? Just come by. If I’m not available, chances are someone will be. Just come by and sleep in your room and help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. The door’s always open.”

“Really?” Peter asked, eyes going wide. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. FRIDAY, did you get that?”

“Yes, boss.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Tony said quietly. “I mean it.”

Peter swallowed, his eyes suddenly looking a little bright. “Thanks, Tony. Hey, um, be right back.” He scrambled off the sofa and disappeared in the direction of Tony’s room. Tony relaxed, closing his eyes, feeling drained as though he hadn’t spent the entire day sleeping. His head ached dully–-just a normal ache, not a throbbing migraine-ache––and so did his neck. 

Peter returned a minute or two later. Tony heard him talking to Bruce in the kitchen, and then the sound of the microwave.

A few minutes later, Peter sat down beside him on the sofa. “Tilt your head forward,” he said, and slid the microwaveable heating pad across Tony’s shoulders. It was comfortably warm. Tony sighed. “Good?” Peter asked. 

“Good,” Tony murmured. 

“Okay.” He held the two tins of ointment up. “Want to stick with the peppermint or try the lavender?”

Tony considered. He didn’t know that the two would mix very well, but the scent of peppermint wasn’t as strong as it had been. “Lavender,” he decided. 

“Okay.” Peter set the tin of peppermint aside and opened the lavender. “This one is my favorite. Sometimes if a patrol is rough enough that I get sore muscles, May will rub my neck with it.” He scooped a bit out and picked up Tony’s right hand, smoothing it all over up to the wrist and then going about systematically rubbing it in. Every once in a while he’d press against the heel of Tony’s hand like he had earlier, but not as hard. Tony had some nascent arthritis in his hands and wrists––one of the reasons he used FRIDAY for everything he could these days––and even that felt better once Peter was done. Tony stretched out his left hand without waiting for Peter to ask. He ignored the way Peter was smirking slightly, as though he’d won something. 

By the time Steve and Barnes showed up, Tony was basically a puddle on the sofa. He raised a hand lazily in greeting but didn’t bother to get up when they emerged from the elevator. Steve was carrying a pot of soup, which he set on the stove. He and Bruce started talking about dinner. Tony tuned them out. Dinner was someone else’s problem. No need to worry about it.

Barnes came and stood looking at him with his arms crossed. Tony, head resting on Peter’s shoulder, was too relaxed to glare back at him like he usually did.

“You look better,” Barnes finally said. 

“I feel a lot better.” Tony picked up the tin of peppermint ointment and handed it to him. Barnes opened it and sniffed. “That stuff’s magic. And the lavender stuff. I might buy stock. I might buy the company,” he added, feeling suddenly inspired to spend a lot of money in a way that would make Pepper glare at him. 

Peter poked him. “Don’t buy the company, just find out from May where she gets it.”

Tony groaned. “You never let me have any fun.”

Barnes opened the tin, sniffed at it, hummed thoughtfully. “Let me know where May gets it, too,” he said, screwing the lid back on. “I’ll try it.”

“Sure,” Tony said. 

Barnes surveyed him for a moment. “You need anything?” he asked then, abruptly. 

“Nah, I’m good,” Tony said. “Pete’s got me covered.”

Barnes left to stand over Steve’s shoulder and, apparently, critique his tomato soup-making abilities until Steve threatened to hit him with the spoon. Peter stayed on the sofa with Tony, but he was very quiet, not even smiling much at the antics in the kitchen. 

“You okay, kid?” Tony asked quietly. Peter nodded. Tony didn’t buy it. “You sure?”

Peter looked at him, hesitated. “It’s just... I can really come over whenever I want?”

“Would I have said it if I didn’t mean it?” Tony returned, frowning. 

“I don’t know,” Peter said with a shrug. “Maybe. If you felt guilty or weren’t thinking clearly.”

“Well, I mean it. Come over whenever you want. The door’s always open. Even If it’s the one on the fifty-first floor balcony.”

“Thanks.” Peter smiled at him, looking quietly pleased. 

It had been a supremely unproductive three days, but Tony suddenly felt like he’d accomplished something after all. Even if it was just making Peter feel happy and welcome, that was pretty good. Tony was pretty sure they could’ve gotten here by some other route, but it still made it feel just the slightest bit worth it. 

He’d take it, Tony thought.

_Fin._


End file.
